


We Have Failed

by Here-Have-A-Melon (SilkenTiger091)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, I probably already know, You don't need to tell me what I did wrong here, not my best work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkenTiger091/pseuds/Here-Have-A-Melon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ishvalans have organised an official rebellion against Amestris. And the "Hero of Ishval" is paying for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have Failed

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not particularly happy with how this one came out, oh well. Roy is way too OOC.  
> In this AU, an actual rebellion is organized, and it's harder to stop it because Scar and his followers have already killed so many state alchemists.  
> This work is kind of old now.  
> (Non request)

    Roy never really wanted to concern himself with things like this, but he had made the choice to join the military all those years ago, so he really didn’t have any right to be complaining. He still really, really, hated getting his hands messy with matters like this.

    It had all started with those Ishbalans, as most problems did those days. A small, renegade group of survivors from the war had started committing small acts of terrorism within Amestris. Mostly it was small but annoying things- destroying train tracks, ambushing military supply trains, and occasionally killing small groups of soldiers. Apparently, the military had taken care of it. That appeared not to be the case, however, as almost half a year later, Roy had caught wind of an ever growing rebel group.

    That was not good. 

    Roy was frustrated beyond belief with those idiots- no way they knew how to run a country. He would have loved to go in there with his flames, just to set things straight, shake things up a bit so the rebels could be caught and punished properly. It terrified him- years of building up a network, gaining only the best and most loyal subordinates, carefully coding and plotting and gathering information- could go to hell in a moment now, because of those damn rebels.

    He had no contact with Fullmetal for about a month or a half yet, either. Not only was Roy worried for the brothers, they were also a very reliable source of information about events happening all over the country. Winry had said she hadn’t gotten a call or visit from him, and that things in Rush Valley were tense, because the rebellion had recently decided to occupy the town. At least Roy’s (old) subordinates managed to be with him in Central. The Fuhrer, deciding that  _ maybe  _ he wasn’t quite comfortable with Mustang being so close with his subordinates- had promoted him to central, where he could keep an eye on the flame alchemist, and spread the others throughout Amestris. However, they all had been recalled to Central shortly before the attack.

    The rebels were in the streets now. Roy could hear the gunfire and the occasional explosion of a grenade. Luckily the rebels seemed to be trying their best to avoid civilians, and the military police had done a good job of evacuating any civilians that were in the way of the fighting. He wanted to be out there, sending in flames to save the inexperienced soldiers and to dispatch the rebel forces. But here he was, stuck inside the fortress that was central headquarters.  _ And I’ll be damned if they ruin everything I’ve worked for, and hurt the people I care about! _

 

    Scar moved through the crumbling hole in the wall of Headquarters, arm flashing as he darted forward, soldiers screaming before him as he deconstructed a leg or arm, aiming to maim. Around him, the rest of the rebel squad he was with, Ishbalans and Amestrians alike, fired their guns around him. The encounter was brief but bloody. Scar stared down at a young soldier, one of the many he ended up killing in the heat of the battle. He couldn’t have been any older than 23, right in the prime of his life. 

    “What’s our count?” He said calmly, turning his eyes from the corpse to the nearest rebel.

    “Five major injuries, six deaths on our side. The rest of us are banged up but ready to fight.” Scar nodded in acknowledgement. He walked back towards the hole in the wall that led to the inside. The doors to the offices were all pulled open, dead and injured fighters everywhere. Blood spattered paperwork was scattered over the floors and desks. One bloodied corpse caught his eye.  _ Is that… _

    It turned out that it was who he thought it was. He approached them, gingerly lifting their head and pressing his fingers against their pulse. It was absent, the life already drained from their body through the bullet hole in their neck. The pale skin contrasted with the scarlet red blood pouring from their neck, dying their shirt a rich red. A rifle had been discarded on the floor, a pistol still held limply in her hand.  _ It’s strange,  _ he thought,  _ that one so efficient and determined at doing their work would be so… Still.  _ Scar picked them up, and carried them out into the hallway. He neared the end, where the large door was being guarded by two of the rebels. He sat her down, then turned to the rest of the group.

    “Two of us will stay behind to take care of the wounded and guard the captured. The rest of you, follow me.” They nodded, and as they passed some of them looked curiously at the person he had shown interest in, but no one said anything.

 

    Roy knew exactly the moment when everything was lost. The moment the rebels had come barging into the wide hallway, before the Fuhrer’s office itself, his heart had turned to led in his chest, then sunk slowly and coiled into a nasty dread that would only grow as the conflict continued. But still, Roy refused to give up, even when reinforcements showed up and they were hopelessly outnumbered. The heat from his flames didn’t stop the sudden cold that settled over him when he realized that he was witnessing the fall of his country’s military to these rebels. Roy was then overtaken by blind fury.  _ I WILL protect those close to me! I won’t let everything we’ve worked for, what Hughes died for to go to waste!  _ The flames Mustang had unleashed on the rebels were brutal- he no longer cared about sparing lives. At one point, he had seen Second Lieutenant Breda, but he had disappeared again.

    Then suddenly, there was a loud boom, smoke filled his nostrils, and pain agonized him, and Roy found himself hitting the floor with a disgustingly wet crunch as he hit the floor and rolled. He gasped desperately, not managing to gather the breath he needed when simply  _ existing  _ caused him pain. His left arm was under him, holding the hole in his side (Roy didn’t dare to even look at it), and his right stretched forward, injured hand reaching forward, glove blown to pieces. Roy lay in agony for a few more silent moments, then he heard the rebels approach. Suddenly, a pair of feet appeared in front of his blurry vision. The man crouched down, and with an enormous effort, looked up.

    “S-scar.” He breathed. The pain was unbearable. Red eyes looked down on him, and Roy was unable to decipher the look he was giving him.

    “You’re dying, Flame Alchemist, Hero of Ishval.” A tattooed hand rested firmly on his head. “I will end your agony now.” 

    “W-wait!” Roy coughed violently, the entire action making him groan weakly as he tried to catch his stuttering breath. “Y-you can kill me… But… Don’t kill my friends…” 

    “I cannot guarantee that some of your subordinates aren’t already dead.”

    “And tell R-riza that… She’ll.. Have to… Move on without me…” Scar had been looking at Roy, but when he had mentioned her, he had looked away.

    “...I’m sorry, Roy.”  Eyes widened as he looked up at Scar.

    “No… No… Not her… She can’t, there’s no way she would leave before me, no, no, no, not hawkeye. Not hawkeye.” Already short breaths were coming shorter and shorter. Roy knew he was hyperventilating, but why should he care?

    It was an excruciating few moments for Roy, writhing on the floor in a pool of his own blood, shaking as puffs of air barely made their way past his lips, along with weak denials. Finally, he saw movement on the edge of his vision, and something was lowered to the floor near him. Ignoring the fire of pain raging through him, he rolled towards the body near him. Using his one good arm, he dragged himself close enough so he could see the corpse.  _ No, no, it really is her… Not Riza! No! She deserved to live… _

    “Riza!” He coughed again, more blood splashing from his mouth. “No… You were supposed to live, c’mon, you can’t…. Be dead! Wake up, wake up, Hawkeye, c’mon, you’ve got things to do…” The man had now dragged himself as close as he could to her face, staring into her closed eyelids, nose almost touching the other’s. He kept brushing back her hair or stroking her face with a shaking hand, unaware of the blood he had smeared on the ground behind him, and the blood that continued to pool around him. Suddenly, Roy felt very cold and heavy. Tiredly, he rested his hand on her perfect, bloodstained cheek. His eyelids slowly lowered. “Riza…. I’m…. So sorry….. Riza….”


End file.
